


Cutting it Close

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Body Hair, Established Relationship, Flirting, Intimacy, M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce is going to be late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cutting it Close

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the shaving scene in the new James Bond film, Skyfall ([gif here](http://roooneys.tumblr.com/post/35339739436)). I think I've found a new kink. 

Anyone else would be running around and frantically searching through their closet in order to be on time for a party that’s set to start in the next hour and a half. Anyone else would focus on getting dressed in the fastest amount of time, especially if they are the guest of honor and the part is on the other side of Gotham City.

However, if Bruce were anyone else, then he wouldn’t be a Wayne and he certainly wouldn’t be very high on the list of people that Dick cares about.

\-------------

 “Was that shower really necessary?” Dick asks from his perch on the wide counter in the master bedroom once the spray from the shower dies down and the only sounds are the sound of water dripping onto tile and Bruce’s carefully measured breathing. “You were in there for almost an hour. Do you even have your suit picked out for the night?”

Bruce makes a rude noise, a low noise that he hardly makes unless Dick has been particularly amusing (or vexing), and then yanks his big blue bath towel down off the rack. “You try rushing through a shower when there’s dried tar on your skin,” Bruce says in a droll tone while still standing behind the frosted glass door of the shower. “I think I’ve pulled off more chest hair than tar at this point.”

Dick throws his head back and laughs loud enough that the sound echoes off the tiled walls. “Poor baby,” Dick says, leaning back against the mirror so that he has the best view of Bruce’s back flexing through the glass as he dries off. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to be late,” Bruce says and there is an undercurrent of amusement in his deep voice that makes Dick wriggle with suppressed excitement. The shower door slides open with a smooth sound and steam pours from within in a visible little fog that is quick to dissipate. When Bruce steps out of the shower, he does so carefully, making sure not to slip on the damp tile and then combs his big hand through his wet hair. The motion draws attention to Bruce’s bare chest and the way that water beads on his impressive pectorals and on the flesh of his dark nipples. “They’re holding this party for me, Dick. I shouldn’t arrive late.”

Dick gives Bruce an absent nod of the head. He’s already paying more attention to Bruce’s body than to his words, gaze lingering on the old white scars that trace over Bruce’s broad shoulders and fading bruises on his chest. The marks that catch his eyes are the newer ones, bits of red that stand out like beacons against the paleness of Bruce’s skin, and Dick winds up biting at his bottom lip as his fingers curl into fists against his thighs.

Bruce takes his time drying his skin. He pulls the towel down from around his shoulders and then starts to rub at his chest with circular movements that are slow and careful --more careful than Bruce usually is with his own body. Every square centimeter of Bruce’s big body receives a careful and meticulous toweling off, from the broadness of his back and his flexing muscles to the soles of his feet --and when Bruce stands up and smirks at him as he winds the towel around his waist and ties a sturdy knot, Dick doesn’t bother to pretend that he has been doing anything other than ogling the older man’s always-impressive cock and balls.

Dick can’t look away and his mouth seems to be running on autopilot. “You can’t go out like that,” he says with a halfhearted wave of his fingers in the direction of the incredible amount of beard growth that Bruce is sporting. “You’re going to a high society party, not a dive bar. You need a shave before you lean in to kiss some heiress’ cheek and you wind up setting the place on fire from the friction.”

“Do you know how long that would take?” Bruce asks with one thick eyebrow raised as high as it can go. “I don’t have time to do it  _and_ do a good job.” Bruce pads across the tile until he is standing next to Dick’s perch on the marble countertop and then reaches for the medicine cabinet. “I don’t have the time to make sure I’ve shaved to your exacting specification.”

Dick starts to swing his legs back and forth. “I know,” he says with eagerness practically  _dripping_  from his voice. “That’s why  _I’m_  going to do it for you.” He leans over the top of the counter in front of Bruce and neatly plucks his shaving kit from the bottom shelf of the deeply set medicine cabinet. “You want to look your best, don’t you?”

He shoves the kit at Bruce. “Set up for me,” he says with a smile. “Please?”

\-------------

Bruce straightens the towel draped over his left shoulder one last time and then moves to stand between Dick’s spread legs. The cold edge of the counter bites into the skin just above the length of blue terrycloth wrapped around his waist and Bruce spares a second to think of comfort before Dick’s callused fingertips are tapping at his jaw.

“I need you to look at me,” Dick says, voice low and serious for a change. “If you’re off making up battle plans in your mind, then you won’t hear me when I ask you to move.” His hand moves and he starts to rub the side of his thumb over the bristly stubble on Bruce’s cheek in a back and forth flicker that… tickles. “God,” he breathes, “You’d give some poor woman one bad case of beard burn.”

Bruce smiles for that. He has to. “Good thing you’re shaving me then,” he remarks easily as Dick reaches for the round shaving brush and dips it in the soap. “It’s nice to know that someone is thinking of the poor actresses that I’d be kissing all night.” When Dick starts to apply the shaving soap with little flicks of his wrist, Bruce allows himself to relax further. He focuses on the scratching sounds of the bristles against his cheeks and the press of Dick’s knees into his sides.

Dick smiles and then sets the brush down in favor of the straight razor from Bruce’s kit. “Now try not to move,” Dick says as he turns Bruce until he has him exactly where he wants him. “I’d hate to hurt you by accident.”

 -------------

For a time, the only thing that Bruce can focus on is the scratching sounds of the razor over his skin and the way that Dick’s bright blue eyes narrow with his single-minded focus.

Bruce holds himself still thanks in part to years of training and… waits. As much as Bruce wants to move even though he knows better than to do anything that could jostle Dick’s grip on the sharp straight razor, he forces himself to look at something aside from the coiling tension in his limbs.

Instead, Bruce looks to Dick as a distraction.

He zeroes in on the way that the other man’s eyelashes look almost like lace frames for the vivid blue of his eyes. His eyes lock on the bright flash of white teeth pressing into the flesh of Dick’s bottom lip and the smell of mint toothpaste on Dick’s breath as he hums something soft and meandering in a low key.

Bruce loses himself in Dick. He stares at Dick’s generous mouth and dares to imagine the unimaginable as Dick’s tongue flicks out to touch the center of his top lip

They’re already this close.

All it would take would be one quick turn of the head and Bruce would be well on his way to being truly late for the party.

One final scrape of the razor’s edge against Bruce’s jaw makes him flinch and just like that he’s thrown out of the fantasy. He’s back to earth and staring up at the quirk at the corner of Dick’s wide mouth and fighting back the instinctive urge to pull away and put some space between them.

The muscles in Dick’s powerful legs flex and then Bruce finds himself caught in between the other man’s legs. “I know you, Bruce,” Dick says, setting the razor aside with a noisy clatter on the marble. “And I’m not letting you run off to get dressed so that you can leave me here.” Dick frowns and on his expressive face, the expression looks damn near heartbroken as his forehead wrinkles. “I’m not even finished with you yet and you want to leave.”

Bruce frowns in return. “I’m going to be late to the party,” he says.

“Fashionably late,” Dick says without missing a beat. He takes the towel off of Bruce’s shoulder and then wipes at the other man’s face with the heated cloth, wiping off the last little remnants of soap and stubble before he deems Bruce’s skin smooth enough for his tastes. “You look good like this,” he says as he smiles down at Bruce and makes himself nice and comfortable on the counter. “But I think I like the beard better.”

Over Dick’s shoulder, Bruce can see his reflection in the mirror. He wouldn’t go so far as to describe himself as pink-cheeked, but his skin looks naked without any stubble. He frowns at himself and then attempts to lean away from Dick’s tempting body. “I need to get dressed,” he says even though every inhale brings him the heady scent of Dick’s body and staying in for the night is looking like a rather appealing option.

Dick sighs and stretches, putting his back into an arching, twisting pose that makes Bruce’s heart skip a beat. When his back cracks in the persistent silence of the bathroom, Dick settles back against the counter and smiles in this smug way that never fails to make Bruce lust after him.

“No you don’t,” Dick says before he leans in and presses a quick kiss to the left side of Bruce’s jaw. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire. “Not yet. Alfred won’t come up to get you for another twenty minutes. We have time.”

Bruce glances up at the clock above the door.

“You planned this,” he says as Dick beams while looking extremely pleased with himself. “Is twenty minutes going to be enough for what you want to do?”

Dick shrugs and rocks forward on the sink until he and Bruce are almost eye-to-eye and Bruce’s hands fly up instinctively to bracket his hips and thumb the jut of bone there. “It’ll have to be,” Dick says simply and the next time that he leans in to kiss Bruce’s newly-shaven cheeks, Bruce turns his head and kisses him square on the mouth.

“We’ll make it work,” Bruce says a moment later as Dick’s fingers scratches lines over his shoulders and he sucks in air as though he’s starving for oxygen. “Twenty minutes is a long time when you don’t have that much of it.”


End file.
